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My Mom and Dad raised us three boys together until November 1, 1943. It was then my father went into the Marine Corps to fight for his country. While Dad was overseas, his mother Luella and stepfather Frank Mueller would come over and check on us as often as they could.

The loneliness and stress of raising three kids became too much for Alyce. She started drinking and going out, leaving us home alone and neglecting our needs. One Saturday afternoon, Frank and Luella went over to check on us only to find Alyce sleeping. They walked into the house and over to the playpen where John and I were kept. They found a glass baby bottle broken and glass all over our playpen. Fortunately, we were not cut. Little Frankie was left playing outside alone. These types of incidents occurred often. Later Luella and Frank, with my father’s permission, filed suit, went to court and won temporary custody of us. We went to live with our grandparents in Webster Grove, Missouri. John and I were less than one year old at that time. For the rest of our lives, even to this day, Frank, John and I have never seen nor heard from our real mother again.

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I bent down to pick up the newspaper, and as I did so I had this quick vision, although it seemed like it lasted for a long while and was very real.

In my vision, I saw an Asian boy standing in front of a stack of bricks. The setting looked like early morning before sunrise. The ground was dry dirt and in front of the boy were three Oriental men in robes who were sitting and watching him. They sat in front of a building with three large pillars. They nodded and then with a powerful blow the boy hit the stack of bricks and they all broke. The three masters only smiled and never said a word. This vision was so vivid and real. I was in a daze.

I picked up my grandmother’s newspaper and went back down to the car. I never said a word. I also forgot about running away. Soon Nana asked, “What is wrong?” I said, “Nothing is wrong.” At that time in Webster Grove, Missouri, there were no martial arts of any kind to influence this vision. This was a premonition of my destiny. My journey, I did not know, had already begun.

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In 1951, David W. McNeil married again to Susan Margaret Zenni in California. She had two daughters from a prior marriage, Phyllis Jean born May 11, 1941 and Elsie Margaret born August 19, 1943 in Dayton, Ohio. Then on August 2, 1952 Teresa Louise was born.

In 1953, all of us got into our car, a 1949 green Studebaker. We were headed for California to join our dad, his new wife Susan, and her three daughters in Los Angeles, California.

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On January 13, 1965 my daughter, Kim McNeil, was born. As the weeks went by and time passed, I enjoyed coming home from work to see my wife and young, beautiful baby daughter. Life seemed so happy. I would have my son Jimmy over every other weekend and he enjoyed holding his new little baby sister. When I would come home from work, Jimmy would always jump into my arms and say “Daddy I miss you, love you, please don’t leave.” It seemed as though nothing could go wrong in this happy home. Of course, I didn’t know the suffering and mental abuse little Jimmy was enduring from my wife, while I was at work. After the death of my son, I realized why he would say “Daddy I miss you, love you, please don’t leave.” Those words still haunt me. If only I would have listened more closely, maybe my son would be here today.

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